


A Day's Work

by Synchron



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blow Jobs, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Dirty Talk, F/M, Grinding, Magic, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, SDT sex, Vaginal Sex, reader is super horny...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchron/pseuds/Synchron
Summary: And so, in this way, life has been rather good to you after that unsightly tree sprouted in the middle of the city. You have a steady source of income, you are in a career you are passionate about, and you live in a city that feeds right into that passion. The only thing you can really say you're missing in life is a thorough fucking after a hard day's work, but eventhatis not beyond your grasp as a witch. You aren't quite fond of inviting men into your home, not liking their nosy questions or haughty arrogance, but you are in possession of quite a selection of toys and dildos, moulded and sculpted into shapes more otherworldly than human to compensate for that. They do the job of course, reaching so deep inside you, stretching your tight hole so far open that you're left a quaking mess afterward, but there are nights where even your favourites don't quite scratch that peculiar itch where you crave something a little more. Something you can touch and hold and squeeze and bask in the purred reactions of. Something hot, thick andreal.Tonight is one such night.And on these nights, you turn to an old tradition.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 42
Kudos: 273





	A Day's Work

**Author's Note:**

> As per a request from a nonnie on my tumblr, here is my smutty witchy one shot!!!! ✨✨ I'm so sorry that this was so long in the making, I actually surprised myself by how much thought I put into Witch!Reader!! There's a touch more lore to her, to demon summoning, and her work that I sadly couldn't really fit into this one shot, but I hope that this one shot is enjoyable even without them...!

These days, with demonic towers rising out of the ground, sinister blood-sucking trees bursting forth, and a generous sprinkling of demonic invasions in between, not many really bat an eye at you anymore when you tell them you're a witch. Red Grave City has been literally upended three times to your knowledge, shaken to its very core in all conceivable ways. The first time it happened, humanity as a whole was still barely finding its feet, lead by the great Sparda who guided them with compassion and a gentle hand as he turned his back on his own kind. The second time, it was when the Temen-Ni-Gru made its appearance, turning one small corner of Red Grave on its head. Though a colossal demon weaved through the air around it, the rippling shockwaves caused by its flight shattering windows and stripping tiles off of rooftops, the entire ordeal was rather discreetly swept under a rug. Looking back on it now, perhaps it was a little _too_ expertly cleaned up by the city, and not at all unlike what would go on to happen in Fortuna decades later, you daresay. But it's the _third_ time your city was destroyed with unprecedented levels of catastrophic destruction, that those in power could no longer keep the truth contained. Not when the spindly roots of an upside down demonic tree were visible all the way from _space_. Oh no, demons are commonplace knowledge now, and though the general populace tends to avoid dealing with those who dabble in the darker arts on principle, fearful of what it may bring, there are a certain crowd - thrillseekers, and the rich mostly - who come to you under the guise of seeking herbal remedies for a 'curious illness'. It's an innocuous phrase to most, but when spoken inside your humble store, it becomes a special password for when clients come looking for your _actual_ wares. What they truly seek, their 'curiosity', are the ritualistic items you peddle, and an understanding of what it means to summon a demon. And, whether it really _is_ mere curiosity, or for more nefarious purposes, you give it to them. Why not, right? You already have their money. What they do with the information and trinkets you provide, and what transpires after the summoning is complete is entirely at the behest of whatever evil they voluntarily call into their lives. You gave the warnings - it is not your job to see that they are properly heeded. All of _that_ falls upon the shoulders of those who clean up the bloody messes the summoned demons usually leave in their wake. If anything, you're actually giving back to the economy by providing jobs for the numerous demon hunting outfits that now reside within Red Grave.

And so, in this way, life has been rather good to you after that unsightly tree sprouted in the middle of the city. You have a steady source of income, you are in a career you are passionate about, and you live in a city that feeds right into that passion. The only thing you can really say you're missing in life is a thorough fucking after a hard day's work, but even _that_ is not beyond your grasp as a witch. You aren't quite fond of inviting men into your home, not liking their nosy questions or haughty arrogance, but you _are_ in possession of quite a selection of toys and dildos, moulded and sculpted into shapes more otherworldly than human to compensate for that. They do the job of course, reaching so deep inside you, stretching your tight hole so far open that you're left a quaking mess afterward, but there are nights where even your favourites don't quite scratch that peculiar itch where you crave something a little more. Something you can touch and hold and squeeze and bask in the purred reactions of. Something hot, thick and _real_.

Tonight is one such night.

And on these nights, you turn to an old tradition.  
  


* * *

  
The lighting in your bedroom is deliberately dim, accentuated by soft candlelight and thin wisps of smoky incense. Mood setters. Ones that sharply contrast with the ritualistic circle you carefully chalked onto your carpet. Although not so much 'you' as the single piece of chalk you enchanted while you lay back on your bed, gently working yourself through your panties with gloved fingers. What demon will you summon tonight? To whom will you give the honour of pleasuring you? The slender red lizard-like creature from last time was quite the treat, limbre and eager in all the best ways. And that flickering tongue… Exhaling an airy, whimpered breath, your fingers go still against your clit before you work yourself too far over the edge on memory alone. You let your hand rest on your bare stomach as you think of what you'd like tonight, your fingers drumming in thought. You'd like something larger, certainly. And something a little more dangerous… Hmm. Lifting your hand into the air, you swirl it lazily, and the piece of chalk that's been hard at work scrawls an extra set of runes on the outer perimeter of the circle to bolster the summoning.

An additional prayer for 'chaos' and 'madness'.

Oh yes, that sounds _exactly_ like what you need.

With an impish grin on your face and a tempest in your blood that needs quelling, you sit up on your bed, murmuring another incantation to continue with the ritual. Automatically, a series of items - a claw of an Assault, the impervious frozen shield of a Frost, a thermal sac of a Basilisk and the brass mask of a Nobody - all rise into the air, assembling inside the drawn summoning circle to sit at each cardinal point. Though seemingly a random assortment of items, the power you intend to draw from them falls more in line with thematic purposes as opposed to occult and ritualistic symbolism. With such a vast menu of demons to choose from, the items you choose to aid your summoning help to narrow down your choices. Unless you're looking to summon one particular species, which of course, is an entirely different ballgame.

Rising to your feet, you straighten out your appearance one last time, adjusting the straps of your garter belt, smoothing out your velvety gloves and tilting your wide brimmed hat _just so_. They're not much of a popular choice for witches in this day and age anymore, but you like the way it looks on you. Of course, for the most part, the demons you summon hardly acknowledge your choice in lingerie and accessories, caring only for the bared skin in between, and your willing, pliant body, but like most things in life, it's done purely for _your own_ benefit.

With your arms folded underneath your breasts, and a scrutinizing eye, you slowly walk the perimeter of the circle, inspecting it for any faults before you proceed with the summoning. Even though you've done this several times before, perhaps even enough to perform one with your eyes closed, when dabbling in darker arts, particularly the demonic, even an incorrect _mindset_ can throw off a summon. Lacking something as simple as the mere preparedness to deal with your quarry can result in chaos, and _you_ of all people are well aware that demons are known to turn on their summoners if they are deemed unworthy. After all, many of those who have paid you for your consultation have ended up maimed.

Or worse.

And so you do not cut corners with your final inspection, nudging the Nobody's mask a fraction of an inch to the left with the tip of your polished shoe. But that's as far as any faults go - though your intentions tonight fall more in line with debauchery, you still take great pride in your work, as any witch does, and to bear witness to anything less would be an insult to the years you spent in training. No, your summoning circle is perfect. With muffled claps of your heels on carpet, you take your position at the southern point of the circle and raise one hand over it, taking a slow breath to clear your mind. The incantation to complete the summoning is relatively simple in comparison to every other step in this meticulous process, designed and planned exactly so as to ease the burden on the individual summoner, but it must still be spoken verbally. For all intents and purposes, it is a binding contract, something that many haughtily overlook, carelessly dismissing the very notion that words can hold power. That demons pay closer attention to the fine print than one would think.

"I, who knowingly walks the red path to meet You,  
You, who roams the endless chaos Tundra,"

It begins quietly, as nothing more than a soft rustling of the upholstery in your room. A gentle swaying of curtains, the swirling of the thick incense that hovers at your feet. A high pitched chime then begins to sound as a deep red glow seeps from the drawn lines on your carpet. Each item at each cardinal point in your summoning circle begins to churn and vibrate until they begin to melt away, absorbed by the energy that courses now through the chalk, following the lines around and around.

"My Conviction creates your path to me,  
And your will controls my Fate,  
If you would submit to my Resolve,  
Force open the cardinal gates to Paradise,"

The high-pitched trill comes to an abrupt stop, sheets and linens flutter back into place as everything in your room falls still once more, until with a rumbling, deep, and otherworldly groan, a tear in the delicate fabric of reality opens, creating an isolated vacuum that tugs at your hair and your hat, churns and swirls the dense wisps of incense that cling to the floor. It billows your curtains and blows out all but a scant few of your candles, cloaking your room in an oppressive darkness. From deep within the portal, a light shines, brightening the room as if it were midday. It flares so intensely that it threatens to white out your vision entirely, but you hold fast. You must.

"Answer me!"

Your heart is racing, pounding inside your chest, but not out of fear of failure, but out of anticipation and unfiltered adrenaline. An eagerness to see what creature answers your call tonight. When the light fades, taking with it the harsh shadows that stretch across the heavy tapestry and linens of your personal quarters, a lone demon stands in the middle of the circle. He is a large one, imposing in all possible ways with a set of regal wings that frame a spiked carapace. His hues consist mostly of an earthy brown, but between his armoured plates, you can see the orange glow of an inferno, embers that kindle inside his very being. He pivots on the spot, one clawed foot stomping on your carpet to survey the room through menacing slits behind which another vigilant fire burns. Though his entire being rumbles like the flames of a wildfire, they come to a stop when he sees you, barely dressed and licking your lips. He cocks his head, a menacing and predatory gesture coming from a creature of his size and apparent strength, but you, however, remain unaffected. You shift your weight from one heeled foot to the other, your lips quirking upward in a coy smile steeped in promises he doesn't yet understand as your eyes trail up and down his powerful form. You drink up every pointed spike, every claw, every glimpse of the madness that blazes just beneath - he is all jagged edges and brimstone and fire.

And, _oh_ , you like the look of this one.

"Umm…" If anything, the demon seems confused, its voice far less intimidating than the deep, booming resonance you were expecting to feel rattle you to your very bones. "Are you a… cultist? Because you kinda caught me at a bad time. Was sort of in the middle of a job, hence the uh--" he gestures to himself with a full downward sweep of his hand, dislodging flickering embers that harmlessly fizzle out on your carpet, "--you know. So if you could just throw me back in there, and also maybe… gee, I dunno, knock it off with the whole summoning-a-demon-thing, I'd appreciate it. Not everybody who falls outta these portals is as nice as I am, and I promise you that demon summoning isn't the fun and games you think..." His words trail off, die right there on the tip of that barbed tongue, because you've stepped over to him, hips swinging as you go, to press one delicate hand into the center of his chest where the pulsing flame glows its brightest. After a muted second, he rather dumbly finishes the rest of his prior sentence, though with a certain lull in his voice that indicates his uncertainty. "...it is… Hey, I know I look cool and all, but I kinda have a strict No Touching policy, and you're… uhh." His stature towers over you, forcing him to angle his head down to fan an intense heat over your bared skin. Like this, he is also treated to the delightful sight of your breasts in that bra, perfectly round, perfectly soft and pressed together between your arms--

Wait, no--

With a grounding shake of his head, dislodging more of those glowing embers, the demon backs up a nervous step, only barely registering something toppling over thanks to his wings, which he at least has the prudence to now fold at his back to avoid further mishaps, nestling them under his arms at his sides. He tries to turn his head to look for whatever had fallen, perhaps also to retrieve it, but you reach up and grab him by one of the horns that curve around his face, yanking him back so that his eyes once more meet with yours. Unlike the tumultuous fire that rages inside him, the flames he can see colouring your eyes bears a familiar, but very different heat. It's barely noticeable on him, but his head tilts in thought, because he can smell something on you too. A fragrant perfume and… something else. Something so sweet and alluring, yet he can't quite place what it is. He keeps you in his peripherals as he scans the rest of the room, finding it far too homey and lived-in to be the dank cultist cellar he was expecting. Moreover, there are no eager eyes preying on him, marvelling at his strength and whispering about how he will be used to 'crush our enemies' or 'cleanse the city' or whatever the hell it is cultists actually do these days. It's just you, barely clothed, him, and that dizzying smell he still doesn't recognise, but feels like he should. To his credit, he's rather distracted - there aren't many who would dare manhandle him in this form, yet you show no signs of fear. In fact, unless he's wrong - and he doesn't think he is, based on your half naked form in front of him, and the quiet, yet no less fierce blaze in your eyes - you are in fact… the complete opposite of afraid.

That chitin plating that covers him is so warm to the touch, even under your velvet gloves, and your thighs unwittingly rub together at the thought of what that heat will feel like under you. "I am no cultist." You tell him, voice commanding and confident even in the face of a demon more true to his name than any you've summoned before. "I am a witch. And the only reason I have called you here today is to fulfill a pact our kind has upheld since ancient times."

"Which is…?" The demon before you still tries to turn his head away, and although you are stronger than you look, someone of his size should very easily be able to brush you off as if you were nothing more than a speck of dust, yet he doesn't. The pull that you feel in your hand wanes, and maybe… just maybe, beneath that apprehension, lies intrigue.

"All of the texts, all the stories, the accounts, they all talk about witches making pacts with the devil in order to achieve…" with your free hand you idly twist at a lock of your hair between your gloved fingers as you talk, once more drawing that burning gaze to the swell of your breasts, "power, the granting of a wish… the request was at the discretion of the individual witch, but for the most part, the payment was always the same."

"And that payment was…? Because I mean I take cash, you know. Cash is-- cash is fine." The demon coughs. Actually coughs. "Bank transfers can be so tedious, you know? And the fees..."

You huff. You've known some demons to be chatty, but this is the first one with any sort of understanding of the functions of the modern human world, much less a sense of humour. But as thrilling a conversationalist as this one may be, you have a much keener interest in what he can _do_ with that tongue as opposed to what he can say with it, and tiring already of this pointless back and forth, you decide it best to cut to the chase. You tilt your head back, pointing your chin at him as you proudly announce your intentions.

"The payment is sex."

Though his expression is set into a permanent snarl of bared fangs and a threatening, penetrating stare, you get the distinct feeling he's squinting at you, skeptical. "Ooookay." The tone of his voice bears an odd mix of implications. A twinge of disbelief overshadowed by curiosity, a desire to see just where this path leads. "And what exactly are you looking to get out of this… pact?"

With one final caress, a light drag of your fingertips down to the very tip of it, you release the horn from your grasp, one corner of your lips twitching upward into a sly smile when you notice he no longer attempts to get away from you. The nervous aura he was exhibiting moments ago is nowhere to be found now. Lifting one leg, you press the sole of one of your shoes into his armoured thigh to boost yourself up to his face, delighting in the way one of his large hands shifts to support you by cupping your ass in one large palm. The bite of his claws, the heat that radiates from his touch and presses into your bare skin has you biting down on your lip to suppress a moan, because what that gesture tells you is that he's listening. He's _interested_.

Letting your plush lower lip slip from between your teeth, you lean close to his face as your tongue, so small and pink, peaks out to lick one stripe up his bared fangs. He tastes like ash, dry and… almost smoky and burnt, but you find you don't mind - you're already too wet to care, pressing your body into his to soak up as much of his latent heat as you can while you whisper your answer.

"A good time."

He seems to deliberate on that for a short moment, until you feel the palm that supports you squeeze at your ass. The very atmosphere of the room seems to shift, leaning towards sultry and something a little shameless. His voice drops. "Oh fuck yeah."

His maw parts, and another fan of hot air brushes over your face. A low rumble of approval, a _purr_ , comes from deep inside his chest as sparks begin to fly off his body. You feel a sharp spike in demonic energy, a surge that churns the very air in your bedroom before it begins to drop. Rapidly. And you realise he is about to disengage from this current form, perhaps to take on another, smaller one that is more fitting for what you're about to do.

Except you don't want that.

Pressing your palm against his chest again, you furrow your brow, silently mouthing a string of words in a language he can't quite place, one that's passed down only from witch to witch, and then a different set of sparks fly. Arcs of black lightning funnel through your palm and into his body, giving it a mild physical jolt at best, but it does succeed in what the incantation was designed to do - to lock his output of demonic energy into place. In simpler terms, until you are finished with him, he cannot change into anything else.

"...the hell? You wanna go like this?" Though his voice is distorted, you can hear the incredulity in its rasp. "Listen, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I don't think that's how it works - I don't even know if--"

You cut him off. "Without the aid of pheromones, your cock will not unsheathe, correct?" Though posed as a question, you don't allow him the opportunity to respond. "You underestimate me." With a nod of your head, you flick an errant lock of hair over your shoulder, the motion giving him another whiff of that sweet aroma that he's been smelling ever since he showed up in your bedroom. It's only now that he's able to finally piece together what it is, and the ensuing sound that comes from the base of his throat, a gravelly exhale of hot breath, sounds more like a repressed moan.

He doesn't know how you obtained demonic pheromones, perhaps the how's are better left unspoken, but far be it from him to question the ways of a witch when this clearly isn't your first time at the rodeo. The demon never thought arousal in this state was possible -the very idea of even trying so foreign and outlandish that he's never even stopped to consider it. But as you shift in his hold, as you swing your legs around his waist to seat yourself on the convenient curve of the armour plating that covers his crotch, he feels a very familiar tingle ignite his body. It's a primal feeling, simultaneously feeding off of _and_ building up from base desires to kindle a fire that licks so tauntingly at his skin. It somehow makes him run hotter than what he's used to, and perhaps all too suddenly, he's far too aware of every movement, every trail of fire that your fingertips leave as they explore the jagged pattern in the middle of his chest. Although those plates exist to offer him protection from harm, he can somehow feel every caress, every soft press of your lips on his armour as if it were his leathery skin beneath. He shudders, has to lean his body back against your dresser, his free hand groping blindly behind him to find purchase as a new wave of sensation flourishes within him, tingling like a current just beneath his skin.

Your nylon stockings are already beginning to tear, catching on the fine barbs that line the armour that covers him, but that's a rather small and inconsequential price to pay for the helpless demon sagging against your dresser. The right pheromones are all you need to turn what would otherwise be a fierce and intimidating demon into a shuddering mess, and feeling a rush of power, you lean into his broad chest to lick between the plating there, moaning openly against him when he squeezes your ass once more in response.

A faint crackling sound draws your reluctant attention as the spell you placed on him, the ward to keep him from changing his form begins to fluctuate. Though it's brief, concern flashes across your eyes until you feel the demon buck his hips into air under you, sucking a distorted breath in through his teeth, and it's only then that you relax again. Right beneath where your ass is perched, a thin red split, backlit by the embers that ignite him, forms. Bit by bit, his cock begins to reveal itself, pushing through in short spurts as it pulses and twitches and grows, already dripping a thick luminescent precum. You feel it arc up towards you as it continues to grow, feel the hot shaft press up to your ass to nestle right between your cheeks. And a rather tight fit it is, you idly muse to yourself - he must be quite large. You can only imagine what it looks like, but you'll save the surprise for later. Good things cum to those who wait, after all. For now, you're content to gently roll your hips, to tease the thick length of his demonic cock between the cheeks of your ass. A sultry laugh falls from your lips when the expanse of chest you're leaning against begins to heave in deep breaths. You feel his claws against your skin shift, and though it's subtle, so surprisingly gentle, you feel him guide your ass over the length of him, and that same laugh morphs into another moan when you begin to feel the uneven texture of him against your skin - thick, pliable ridges that you're already imagining pushing into your velvety cunt.

Your legs tighten around him, hearing another pop from your stockings as another hole is torn in them over his ceaseless, ragged breaths, but you don't care. His reactions to the mere grinding of your ass along the length of his cock takes precedence over such minor collateral damage. You'd be more surprised, disappointed even, if your stockings managed to survive the night. So no, frankly, you don't care how torn they get, thinking instead of the wet mess you're smearing into his scales, leaving a shiny patch that the flimsy paper-thin material of your panties are barely able to absorb.

Ah, even as a full-blooded human, the combined musky smell in the air is maddening.

"Fuck…" The demon hisses, bucks his hips again, forces his shaft between the rounded globes of your ass. He's pressed so snug against you, that you can feel every twitch, every raised seam, and it's so _hot_ against your skin it almost burns.

"Put me down," you gasp between each slow roll of your hips, "on my bed."

The demon wordlessly complies, pushing off your dresser with enough force that it tips backwards to hit the wall. You don't care too much about that either. With you still in his arms, with your legs still locked around him, he makes his way over to your bed, your carpet soft and plush under his feet, and somehow, standing right there with his shins touching the very edge of your sheets, the smell of you is the most overwhelming. It's an odd balance of salt and spice and musk and _arousal_ , and another trickle of his glowing precum oozes from the head of his cock, dripping down onto your bed in one thick stream.

You unlock your legs and untangle yourself from him, letting him lower you surprisingly gently onto the edge of your bed where you finally come face to face with his turgid cock. It's coloured a little lighter than the rest of his scaly skin, more of a caramel, but that could simply be a trick of the lighting when orange veins pulse just below the surface with a simmering glow, accentuating the thick ridges that line his shaft behind a flared corona. The tip of your tongue slips out to swipe at your lower lip when it twitches again - the demon is clearly pleased by your close scrutiny of his cock - and in doing so, you catch the line of raised bumps that leave a trail along the underside of his shaft all the way to the base.

"Oh you are perfect," you breathe, lifting both of your hands to curl your fingers around his thick shaft. It's excessively warm, even through the material of your gloves, with a real sense of weight, and true to what you'd felt when you were rutting against him earlier, he is deliciously thick - your fingers hardly meet around his girth. Immediately, the thought of you stretching around him as he slowly pushes inside you, one ridge at a time has you wrenching your thighs together, a motion that doesn't escape the notice of the demon above you - and not because of the movement, but the _smell_ of your arousal that rises to meet him, even with your thighs clamped together.

"Must have a hell of an appetite if human men aren't doing it for you anymore." His voice sounds permanently singed, hoarse and gruff, yet when coupled with those words, you get the sense he's amused.

Peering up at him through your lashes, you lean forward to give the tapered tip of his cock a kiss, leaving a red print of your lips. "Human men tire far too easily," you muse, your lips now trailing down the length of his shaft as you commit every bump and bevel to your memory, peppering gentle kisses as you go, "and they lack the primal energy that demons have in spades. You won't be the exception to the rule, will you?" By now you've returned to the tip of his cock where you gather a thick stream of precum onto your tongue. Similar to the rest of his body, it has a distinct burnt flavour, a kind of overpowering bitterness that lingers on your tastebuds, but again, you can't bring yourself to complain. Not when you feel a rush of heat brush over your skin, stirring at your hair as his palm covers the entire back of your head. His claws enter your peripherals as his fingers curl around your head, but that merely adds to the thrill of danger being so close by.

"Babe, you're not gonna know what hit you."

A smile tugs at your lips, and you return to pressing chaste kisses to the head of his cock. "Do you have a name?" You ask, between kisses that are far too soft, far too slow, and, in the demon's humble opinion, _far_ too lacking in some tongue.

Above you, the demon regards you in silence for several long seconds, accompanied by the occasional, almost distant sound of a fire blazing - his own pulsing heartbeat. "That isn't really necessary, is it?" For whatever reason, he seems reluctant. Does he think you intend to curse him, or something equally ridiculous? His logic doesn't matter to you either way, because you intend to quash his reasoning here and now.

You give his cock one slow pump, working your fingers along the contours of it as you gaze up at him, your eyes full of promise. "I'm something of a screamer - I'd like to have a name to go along with a rough fucking."

Another few seconds of silent deliberation, and then his hand at the back of your head guides you back towards his cock where you readily comply, your lips parting to take him into your mouth. It's when he's pushed his glans past your lips, when he feels the tip of your tongue tease at the trail of bumps on the underside of his length, when he knows you're too preoccupied with mapping out his shaft with your tongue, that he answers you with a voice thick with need. "It's Dante."

The name is familiar to you somehow. It isn't the name of a demon of the Underworld, of that much you are certain, but you still can't really put your finger on where you've heard it from, or why it means anything to you. It's, ironically, right on the tip of your tongue in fact, but you figure you can puzzle over it later after you've been fucked right into your mattress. Presuming you still possess the cognitive ability to do so. (Part of you hopes you don't.) So, forcing it aside, you let one of your hands drop from around his cock, and instead slide it between your legs, your fingers deftly rubbing and probing at your wet panties as you hollow out your cheeks and begin to suck.

Like everything else whenever Dante takes this form, everything is amplified. His sight, his hearing, his perception… his sense of touch. The pleasure is so raw, so intense, that it's almost mind-numbing, creating vivid sparks behind his eyes, underneath his skin, reducing everything else to mere static and white noise. And this is just the beginning. This is just with your mouth. He does his best to keep himself still, has to consciously tell himself not to mindlessly thrust the rest of his cock down your throat and fuck your face like he _so desperately wants to do_.

Feeling his fingers press into your head, hearing another pleased (or is it impatient?) rumble, another trickle of precum graces your tongue, coaxed forth by one more throb of his cock in your eager little mouth. Bit by bit, you try to ease him down your throat, humming half in disappointment, half in anticipation when you can only take a third of his shaft before tears sting your eyes, and your jaw begins to tire. You knew taking all of him down your throat was an impossibility to begin with - Dante is easily the most impressive cock you've seen in a long time - so it's almost apologetic, the way your hand pumps the base of his cock, your thumb pressing and teasing at that line of raised divots underneath. You mimic the tempo with your fingers between your legs, gently pushing at your entrance through your panties, moaning around his shaft in your mouth and clenching your thighs together to grind towards the protrusion you're actively denying yourself. It's the thrill of it that spurs you on, the anticipation of things to cum that keeps you from pulling your panties to one side to slip two fingers inside yourself.

It says something about your current state, so swept up in ideas and mental images of a thick cock pumping relentlessly in and out of you, that a demon possesses more cognition than you do, pulling his hips back and away from the tight seal your lips have formed around the pleasing dips and curves of his member. His cock springs from your mouth with such a lewd pop, strings of your saliva and precum stretching with the distance as he angles his hips away until they snap one by one and falling, already chilled, onto your chest. His large hand unwraps itself from around your head, claws gently untangling themselves from your hair, but before his touch leaves you. He watches you for a moment longer; staring down at the sight of your plump lips, parted and shiny with spit and his own gently glowing fluids, still tinted with a deep red; your breasts that gently, and so softly, heave with each deep breath you take; your hand that's still trapped between your creamy thighs, still playing and teasing at your folds.

He growls, a deep and rolling baritone that you desperately want to feel on your cunt. At a deliberately slow pace, Dante trails the very tip of one long claw over the skin of your shoulder, scraping, but not breaching your skin. He follows the alluring dip of your collar, leaving a faint path of red etched into your skin that erupts more into a tingling fire and has you breathing out an airy moan, than a lingering pain. His hand skims ever lower, opening to cup one of your breasts in his hot palm where he gives it an appreciative squeeze, silently marvelling in how pliable it is under his touch. It doesn't escape his notice that the hand trapped between your thighs begins to move a little more vigorously the longer he massages your breast in his hand, feeling your pebbled nipple scrape at the course leather inside his palm even through the flimsy lace of your bra.

Dante laughs, and for the first time since he arrived, it actually is an intimidating sound. "Horny little witch…" he ponders aloud, giving your breast one final squeeze before he urges you backwards onto your bed, wedging one knee between your thighs to force them open. Your stockings catch on his plating again, opening another hole in the sheer material, and you idly think they're going to be nigh unsalvageable before the night is over, but all thought leaves you when you feel your bed dip and creak under his weight. When he lays you flat against your sheets and drags those claws down your delicate skin. He plays with the straps on your garter belt, letting the lace catch on the tips of his sharp claws, draws a circle around your belly button, and continues downward still until he reaches the hem of your panties. The smell coming off of you is so heady and strong, forcing another low grow to rattle around inside his chest. Unlike the tender, barely there caresses from seconds before, Dante flips his hand over so his palm faces upwards, slipping one sharp claw underneath the band of your panties that secures them around your left leg as he purrs, "You won't be needing these." It's utterly effortless on his part, you barely register the tug you feel at your hips as the flimsy material gives, immediately tearing at the most minute angling of his finger upwards. He does the same to the opposite side, still just as deliberately slow and purposeful, letting the sound of tearing lace speak in his stead, promising so much more than words ever could.

You lift your hips when Dante pinches your now ruined panties between his finger and thumb, lifting your weight off of them so he can pull them off of you. He does, but not before you notice a faint glowing of his eyes, and then he's sliding the torn material upward, angled just so that it pulls through your wet folds and rubs at your swollen clit. The action earns him a buck of your hips and the first moan of his name for the evening, and hearing it fall from those same lips that were only just pulled tightly around his cock, lips that still shine with saliva and precum, makes him suck in a breath too. He lifts the black lace up high, levelling it with his face, and then his jaw parts. You watch, heart racing, as a barbed tongue, thin and flexible snakes out between his fangs to sample a taste of your slick that still covers the seat. You watch, as his head lols back, the flames behind his eyes flaring when your flavour hits his tongue. It should be a sin, how intense the taste of you is, but Dante reminds himself that in this form, looking like a textbook demon, the scales that determine what constitutes a sin are heavily tipped to one side.

He wonders then, if your taste will be any different if he shoves his tongue inside your cunt, and, carelessly tossing your panties across the room, caring little for where they land, Dante grips your thighs and lifts your lower half right off the bed and towards his face to find out. You swing your legs over his shoulders, propping one heel against his back while the other dangles helplessly in the air, suspended by his grip still on your thigh. A vague stretching noise pierces the air as his maw continues to open, until you can feel his hot breath sweep over your exposed entrance. He lowers his face halfway to meet the source of that sweet ambrosia, his fangs _just_ scraping at the skin on your abdomen. It makes for quite a sight, having the head of a powerful demon between your thighs, so close to an embodiment of death in the form of great fangs that hover over your skin. He tore your panties so easily, and with hardly any exertion on his part, what could those teeth do to you if he closed his jaw just a fraction of an inch? Would it hurt, or are you so far gone that you would cum from the pain and the warm flow of your blood?

You muffle a whimper by biting down lightly on your thumb, wriggling your hips in his face, but all that results in is a warning squeeze on your thigh before he flicks at your swollen clit with the very tip of his tongue. It slips and slides, presses and teases, his tongue works your clit with an unworldly dexterity, and coupled with his hot breath against your cunt, your eyes are already rolling back into your head as you keen and whine, the muscles of your cunt clenching once in impatience. You want that tongue writhing inside you until you cum in his mouth, you want to be stuffed full of his cock as he pumps his thick load into you until he's spent…

The thought alone makes you curl the leg not still imprisoned in his hand around his head, a rather feeble attempt to keep his head right where it is. Your free hand then skims down your body, putting on a show of trailing over your breasts where you play with the lace of your garter belt for a short second, just because you know he's watching you. A short laugh bubbles from you at the grumbling purr that follows, and then your hand slips lower again when you grip him by one of his horns to try to tug him forward. "Enough games, Dante. Make me cum on your tongue and I'll make it worth your while."

With one final insistent press of his tongue on your clit, dragging the soft, blunt barbs over it (and relishing in the feel of your thigh quivering in his grasp), Dante retracts his tongue. "Thought you'd never ask." Despite his visage already set into a permanent sneer, there's a particular narrowing of his eyes that tells you he's smiling, and then in one slow motion, he slowly swipes the entire length of his tongue through your glistening folds, lazily undulating from side to side as he goes. As he'd expected, you're far sweeter on his tongue when he's tasting you directly, huffing out another slow, hot breath, and grinding his hips against your bed. The sheets do little to provide relief for him, hardly teasing even the underside of his throbbing cock, but he's moaning into you all the same and rutting a little more fervently. Dante repeats the exact same motion once more and watches as your head falls back against your mattress and your eyes flutter closed. When the pointed tip of his tongue finally reaches your entrance, he hovers there for a second, flicks, tastes… lets the anticipation build as you roll your hips impatiently, so needy for the orgasm you've been denying yourself since the evening began.

He probes slowly, making small exploratory circles at your entrance as he listens to the sound of your voice, so thick and laden with lust. Your cunt welcomes his tongue, stretching around him and squeezing, drawing him further inside you, treating him to another burst of that salty sweetness... the overwhelming flavour of you. Prehensile and flexible, his tongue twists and writhes as he reaches further and further inside you, massaging silky walls with sinuous flicks. He has impeccable control over the movements of his tongue, using it to twist in vague circles to stretch you further and further open, but he doesn't fuck you with it yet. Mind-numbingly good as that slick appendage of his is, leaving you breathless with each dip and sway, the motions he makes with it are still curious and experimental. Dante keeps rubbing one particular bump on his tongue against your front wall, no doubt looking for--

Your back immediately arches as every muscle in your body contracts at once, forcing your sweet cunt ever close to his face. "Fuck, Dante--!"

He purrs his approval, satisfied with the reaction he was able to force out of you upon finding your sweet spot. He delights in every twitch of your body, every moan that falls from your parted lips every time he presses into it with his skilled tongue, paying close attention to the sensation of your cunt as it squeezes down around him. Underneath you, his cock continues to ooze precum all over your sheets, twitching in sync with your clenching walls, while he lets his imagination run away with the thought of what it will feel like when he's fucking you with every inch of him - you certainly aren't the only one who wants to fuck until you're filled and leaking torrents of his cum.

When Dante finally begins to push his tongue in and out of you with lewd, wet smacks and pops, you let go of his horn and adjust the position of your heel that's still pressing into his back, opening your legs wider as he tilts his head to give himself a better angle at which to lap and lick at you like you're his last meal on this earth. The motions of his tongue vary between deep strokes and curling, rippling flicks until your voice begins to pitch. He can tell you're close, can smell the subtle changes in your output of hormones, and he feels the ghost of your gloved fingers down the side of his face before your fingers begin to rub at your clit, pushing you to newer heights on a tongue that you feel is genuinely wasted on speaking words. Whoever Dante is, you think his purpose would be much better served if his head never left the space between your thighs, if he continued to work you to the edge with his tongue forever.

"Fuckyesyes _yes_ \--" Faster and faster, your fingers flick at your swollen clit as more slick gushes out of you, dripping past your ass and down his jagged chin to mix with the generous pool of his precum on your sheets. They'll be ruined before the night is over, much like your stockings and your panties, and with luck, much like you hope to be. Your breaths become ragged and uneven, your thumb finally slipping from between your teeth to cup at your own breasts, pinching and pulling at your pebbled nipple as you finally cave to the full-bodied orgasm that threatens to drown you in wave after wave of a torrential high. Sparks course through you as a multitude of synapses fire off at once, electrical signals that twitch and contract every muscle as they course through you to ultimately culminate between your legs. Your thighs take cues from your clenching cunt and bear down around Dante's head, hips moving automatically and grinding against the rhythm of the tongue that continues to fuck you in earnest. He lets you ride out the rest of your orgasm this way, lets you drag out each pulse and contraction of your walls until your breathing slows and your voice gently subsides. Both of your hands go slack at once, falling onto your bed on either side of you while you bask in the afterglow of your well-earned climax.

Dante waits until your walls stop twitching, until he's sure he's milked your orgasm for everything it's worth before he slowly pulls his tongue out you, flicking once more at your sensitive clit. It earns him a delighted, hummed moan from a blissed out you, and then he's lowering your boneless body back onto the bed. He plants one hand at your side and hovers over you, his tongue, still coated in your juices, dragging up your navel and to your breasts where he repeats the earlier motion of his tongue on your clit.

"You said you'd make it worth my while?" He murmurs, voice still perfectly clear even though his tongue is busy playing with your hardened nipples through your bra. Dante settles between your legs once more, guiding them around his waist while he ruts the underside of his cock against you. With him towering over you like this, dwarfing your smaller body and caging you under him, the heat that radiates off his body is more stifling than ever. It should be uncomfortable and sticky and humid beyond any tolerable point, but when you feel those raised bumps stimulate your clit on each drag of his cock, your concern for your own comfort leaves you to make way for a more pressing need that burns you from the inside out.

Your arms fold underneath your breasts, emphasizing their shape - more a show for him than it is for you. "I did, didn't I?" The colour of your eyes shifts and darken as they flicker down to his cock, still languidly slipping through your wet folds. His precum is searing on your exposed skin, painting the inside of your thighs in a web of glowing, luminous strands. "Take what you need, then."

He groans at the invitation, draws his hips back until his cock lines up with your soaked entrance. You both know it'll be a tight fit, that even though he'd worked you open with his writhing tongue, his cock is far larger than anything you've ever taken before. It doesn't scare you though, the potential pain doesn't worry you, because you've prepared for that too. A glowing purple seal forms on your skin just above your slit, an intricately weaved pattern composed of runes and symbols that mean nothing to the demon above you. Dante considers it for a moment, still just resting the tapered tip of his cock _just_ inside your folds.

"A precaution," you answer before he can even voice his question. You prop yourself up on your elbows, running slick covered gloves up his arms and toward his face. His tongue slips out between his teeth one final time to taste you on the velvet, your lips pursing into a pout as you playfully coo at him, "in the event you're a little too rough on my soft, delicate body, because you're _such_ a big boy~"

Dante's teeth prick into your fingers, the snarl that echoes from his parted jaws exciting you more than it frightens. A clawed hand bats your hand away from his face and then he's leaning over you again, preparing to fuck you open on his engorged cock. Laughing, you situate yourself, wriggling until your ass sits flush against his thighs and you feel the pinprick bites of the small barbs that cover them press into your skin. They don't draw blood, but they scratch and pull at your poor abused stockings, and the stinging that accompanies their presence against you only serves to heighten the experience - to really drive home the fact that you are at the mercy an entirely new standard of demon fucking.

The flared head of his cock begins to push inside you, your walls parting and taking him easily enough, but as his girth increases the further he slips inside, the tighter you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. Yet it doesn't hurt, the burning itch that comes with being stretched so far over his cock, feeling each crevice, each dip, each blunt ridge along his sinful shaft push inside your tight hole has you seeing stars. A plethora of colours beyond comprehension burst in your vision. He is so unbearably _warm_ inside your cunt, almost as if the maddening heat is widening your perception, allowing you to notice every stuttering motion he makes, and every eager throb as he reaches deeper within you.

"Fuck, if only you could see yourself." Dante breathes. And to emphasise his point, he momentarily halts his journey into your depths to thrust shallowly with the half of his cock he has sheathed in you, letting the slick, wet sounds of your cunt speak for itself. Your expression is twisting into one of mindless want as your eyes flit closed to focus, really _focus_ on the spine-tingling pleasure just these meagre movements of his hips is leaving you with. Pride swirls inside his chest at the knowledge that he hasn't even fully sheathed himself inside your core yet, and you're already a sweating, lip-biting mess, keening and whining with each gentle thrust into you. "You love this, don't you?" You feel a sweltering heat loom close to your face, and you know he's mere inches away from you. "You like getting fucked by big, mean demons, don't you?" Your eyes are still closed, envisioning what your cunt looks like when pulled so tightly around his length, but you can feel his tongue, hot and somehow slimy caress at your neck, licking at your sweat and tasting the salt of your skin. "But just you wait until I get _really_ mean with you, babe." Dante's voice drops to a harsh whisper.

"I'll have the entire block hearing what I'm doing to you."

It's completely unplanned, and far too preemptive, but the combination of his slick tongue teasing at your pulse; the scorching, torrid heat of his body above you; his maddeningly perfect cock pushing and pulling and filling your cunt; _his disgusting promises to you_ has you cumming hard again, your back arching up off the bed, hands scrambling to tug at whatever they can find. Once more, you can hear the ward you placed on him crackle and struggle before it finally bursts under an unseen pressure. The invisible strings that had him metaphorically bound all snap at once as Dante's eyes flare in a surge of demonic energy. The temperature in the room increases, the air _boils_ , making the remaining few candles in your room flicker weakly. He forces himself to maintain a level head with deep breaths and his own demonic power, not wanting to blow his load until he's jammed himself as far into you as he can - so that his roiling cum reaches as deep inside you as possible.

He _will_ fill you, and until then, he won't accept anything less. Even if the strain makes the chains of his reasoning pull taut and threaten to break.

Your eyes are glassy when they open again, possessing a certain distant quality before you blink the colour back into them. You find that your hand is gripping one of his horns again, shaking either from how hard you're squeezing it, or from the orgasm you just had - you can't be certain which - but you release it after you regain your breath.

"Don't you dare stop there," the warning sounds so feeble coming from you in this lust-filled state, with a voice right on the edge of hoarse and breaking, "I want you to fuck me until you're satisfied."

Dante hums as the air goes stagnant once more, and the surge of power you'd felt seconds ago wanes and tapers off. "Oh, I plan to. I'd be stupid to pass up a horny little minx like you."

With a billowing whoosh, Dante unfurls his wings from behind him, further caging you in when he props them onto the bed above you, thick, menacing claws sinking into your sheets. You think you can hear the sound of something scratching too, and the cracking of plaster, but before you can angle your head in the direction of the sound, Dante grips your chin with his thumb and index finger, keeping your head in place in a gesture that mirrors your own manhandling of him. Then he begins to slide more of his cock into you with a low, rasped laugh.

"Keep your eyes on me, babe. Let me watch you enjoy this."

The purple seal on your lower abdomen glows gently as Dante pushes his hips forward, the sheer bulk of him distending your stomach the deeper he lets himself in. There's no pain - that's what the deal was designed for - but you _can_ still feel the slow burning stretch as with one final thrust and a low groan, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. The seal flashes, redirecting the pain into something more worthwhile, and letting out a shuddering moan of his name, you slip one hand between your bodies to feel the bulge his cock creates through your stomach. He's so deep inside your cunt, it feels more like he's nudging at the base of your throat with each tentative thrust of his hips.

"Ohhh babe, you're the fucking _best_ \--" Dante hisses his words through a full body shudder, his wings quivering even as they help support his hulking frame above you. He doesn't wait until you're situated, placing his faith in your magics, before he starts to rut, pulling his cock free of the paradise that is your hot cunt, withdrawing all the way to the tip and leaving you so achingly empty that you can't help but mewl. And then without warning, without waiting, he slams back inside you, filling you in one powerful stroke that forces the air out of your lungs, using your erratic pulse as the foundation of the rhythm he establishes with an eager fervour. Your legs are starting to feel numb, your arms too - the majority of any sensation in your body converging between your legs where Dante fucks into you.

The bed creaks and groans in protest, not only from Dante's weight, but from the force of his thrusts and your own thrashing as you leave yourself entirely at his mercy. A string of drool trickles from the corner of your parted lips, both your throat and voice drying out from the rapid puffs of air you breathe in between his feverish pounding. You're a mess both above and below as an unholy mix of your slick and his precum oozes out from your tight hole with every forward stroke of his thrusts, splattering onto your thighs and covering his scales in a scent that's so overpowering, it almost forces Dante to his very limits.

"Shitshit-- mm--" Your vision is beginning to blur, reducing the demon above you to fuzzy specks of brown and bright orange. "Dante… DanteDante _Dante--!_ Harder. _Deeper._ _More. Fuck--!"_

Your pitched babbling is incoherent at best, your mind struggling to string words together and instead, reaching for basic commands to utter and whimper. Whatever gets the point across. Your hand still rests at your lower abdomen, right above your magical seal in fact, where you feel the repeated motion of his cock driving into you and stretching the runes like they're a tattoo on your skin. The bulge that forms around him somehow feels larger than what you remember being in your mouth and your hands, but the inner workings of your mind have been all but reduced to a formless, shapeless void where the only thing that matters is feeling the push and pull of his throbbing cock as it stretches your insides, bringing with it a sort of electrifying pleasure you don't think any other demon will ever come close to giving you, because Dante is truly one of a kind.

You can hear him say something to you, but the words are fuzzy in your ears. The tempest that's taken hold of your body only allows you to zero in on the way his hips stutter in their brutal pace as with a snarl, one that sounds muted and distant to you, Dante wrenches you into his body, driving himself right up against your cervix, causing your magical seal to glow its brightest, as he reaches the peak of his pleasure, pumping thick jets of his hot seed into you. All the while, prolonging his own high as he mumbles quiet nothings, Dante continues to thrust into you in short, stuttery movements. Maybe it's the sensation of his rampant cum flooding your walls and oozing from your cunt in pulses, or the sound of him, so caught up in his own pleasure, or perhaps it's how you can _feel_ each twitch of his cock through your abdomen, every vigorous pump as he fills you, that forces your third orgasm in the same hour.

A long, drawn out cry tears from your throat, one that only vaguely resembles his name as your cunt clenches and squeezes at his cock in powerful contractions. Your body feels so light, almost as if it's floating, submerged in a gentle warmth. In reality, it's likely the feeling of his cum that's being forced out of your hole with each thrust that emulates that feeling, dripping down your ass, coursing over his plating and staining your bed linens with a faintly orange glow. Your cunt is so slippery with it now that rutting into you is effortless, the only real struggle being the way it so adamantly grips his cock that pulling out requires conscious effort. But with the sweet, electric, white-hot pleasure that greets him every time he does so, Dante doesn't stop.

Not until you stop contracting, not until the sounds that come from you are reduced to mere whimpers and broken words, not until his cock stops pulsing, and the stream of his seed slows to a gentle dribble.

You're utterly boneless and completely satisfied when he pulls out of you with a sickening squelch, letting loose another torrent of his steaming cum. You feel Dante tenderly brush at your thigh, thumbing the damp skin and playing with the elastic of your stockings as he untangles your legs from around him. He spares a glance down at the mess he's left on your bed, the streaks of his luminous seed, but more importantly, at his still hard, still throbbing dick.

"You didn't think you were off the hook, did you?" There's a tired strain present in his voice, overworked and weary, but he still flips you over with one hand, props you up on your knees and presses your face into the mattress with a heavy hand at the back of your head. You can only whimper a reply, laugh a little too giddily when Dante bottoms out inside you again in one smooth stroke. The seal on you dims, your body well accustomed to his sheer size by now, leaving you with an unfiltered and mind breaking pleasure.

Words no longer exist to you, nothing does outside of short, sharp gasps as Dante ravages you from behind, his coarse and rapid thrusts primarily for his own pleasure than it is for yours. All you can do is smile into your sheets, tears pricking at your eyes when he curls the fingers of his other hand around your entire waist, guiding your body back against and onto his cock. All you can do is take the pleasure he's giving you.

You feel him lean into you, applying more of his weight behind the hand that presses your head in place, and though his silky smooth, relentless thrusts fill you so thoroughly and so perfectly, it's the sounds of Dante's grunts and low groans that have you moaning brokenly into your bed. Somewhere nearby, you can hear the sound of linen tearing when he adjusts the position of his wings, anchoring them deeper into the mattress to give him better leverage to drive his cock into you with. He curses above you, a string of almost incoherent profanities hissed through his teeth. His body feels so hot that steam actually rises from him, fueling the humidity already so prevalent in the air. It's so stifling, but no more so than the way his hand around your waist tightens, his claws digging into your skin where they finally do draw blood. The new coppery scent in the air jolts Dante's senses, and you don't know how, but his cock seems to reach deeper into you, slamming into your sweet spot with a persistence that rips another orgasm from you.

"So fucking greedy…" Dante's own laugh is stretched thin, stiff and tense, because with one final forward thrust, one final pull of your limp body, he spears you onto his cock and lets your stretched cunt milk him for every last drop of his abundant seed. He's so deep inside you like this, so disgustingly hot and close that you can feel each throb of his cock inside your body as if it were your own life-giving pulse. At this point, it may as well be. How are you supposed to get by in life now, knowing you'll never recieve a fucking this thorough again? Ah, if you were any more cognizant, you'd probably feel sad.

Dante remains sheathed inside you long after you've both cum, having at least the decency to let you adjust, let you find yourself again before he draws his hips back and pulls his flagging cock out of you. His patience is rewarded by the welcoming sight of your hole leaking another deluge of his seed. The second thing he removes from you is his hand around your middle, and truly weakened, truly spent, you fall, completely limp onto your bed. Dante rears back on his haunches, retracting his wings and surveying the mess of not only you, not only your poor bed, but the rest of your room too; your dresser lies askew, what cannisters and bottles sitting atop it lay on their sides, if not on the floor; your curtains, composed of a heavy material in their own right are tangled and draped over nearby furniture; Dante even sees what he'd initially knocked over with his wings before all of this began - a small vanity stool.

"Sorry for the mess." He has the audacity to sound apologetic, turning his head to look back down at you. You've managed to collect yourself somewhat in the time he wasn't watching you, surprising even Dante when he sees you resting your head on folded arms and gazing up at him from over your shoulder. Your legs are even kicking, your heels clacking together playfully as though you _don't_ have a demon's rampant cum oozing out of your cunt. "You uhh… want me to stay and help clean up or…?"

"No," you reply simply, strangely energetic despite the circumstances, "our pact is over."

"Wait, can I at least get your name?" For what, Dante can't say he's sure. A follow up session? Maybe meeting when he's human? Wait, do you even _know_ he's half human?

"No," you reply again, and propping yourself up onto your elbows, letting him soak up one last look at the curve of your back, and your torn stockings, and his fluids still slowly leaking from you, you snap your fingers and send him away.

"Hey hang o--"

He's never able to finish that sentence, because in the blink of an eye, he's already gone. As it turns out, the process to reverse the summoning is painstakingly easy - the only reason why civvies can never seem to do it right is because they lack the resolve.

For you though, it's all in a day's work.


End file.
